Extract Thyself
by tlep
Summary: When Mack's extraction team fails to show, he's left to get out of Colombia on his own. Tag to the Conduit episode in Season 4.
1. Chapter 1

SELF-EXTRACTION

Mack Gerhardt's eyes scanned the horizon for the millionth time. He saw only the white cap of the small waves breaking the ocean's surface. Light had tinged the sky before dawn broke nearly half an hour ago. Fighting fatigue and hunger, still he waited, hoping—unable to help but wonder if his being here was due to a glitch on the mission or if it was intentional. Did Ryan know that Mack had learned about the affair? Would Ryan really risk it?

Hearing voices carried to him on the wind, Mack pushed off from his post against the front of the truck. On the hill behind him, a car was now parked and a middle-aged couple were making their way down the trail to the beach. Further up the beach he could make out the form of a long jogger. _Time to cut bait and run_. He'd accomplished his part of the mission—and had the bruises to prove it—but it would go in the failure column. Now, he was on his own.

He moved to the side of the truck and lifted a corner of the heavy canvas a few inches. Pulling the revolver with silencer from his waistband, he held it a few inches from the man's forehead. Now conscious, the man's eyes went wide in fear as Mack stared back blankly, before pulling the trigger, twice. The head jerked back at the force of the bullets' impact and the pupils blew in the split second before the eyes closed. Mack calmly laid the gun next to the body and let go of the canvas. With a glance at the approaching couple, Mack walked unhurriedly away from the truck and down the beach.

************

Mack had walked over a mile up the beach, making sure no one seemed to be following him. He jogged up a path to a high-end tourist hotel. He slid the camel colored jacket off and ditched it in a garbage can. It wouldn't be long before some nosey beachcomber checked out the truck and found the body. And eventually someone would remember a man walking away from the truck or down the beach alone. Hopefully, he had at least half an hour before they were looking for him. Cartagena was a big city with bus terminals, the port district, and airport. So many choices—too many to cover thoroughly in trying to find him; only he had limited funds and would need new identification to get out of the country and home through proper channels. Stealing a plane in Colombia was risky business—too many gunmen protecting the drug runners and flying without a flight plan was an invitation to be shot down. He could hop aboard a ship, but trying to find one headed in the right direction could raise suspicion and the cartel had plenty of moles in the shipping business, too. This time he needed a little help.

************

Passing the pool area he ducked in the bathroom and washed traces of dirt and blood from his face, trying to look like he belonged here. Ducking into the resort's small deli, Mack ordered a large coffee and breakfast burrito to take the edge off. To the casual observer he was just another tourist enjoying an early breakfast as he did a quick surveillance of the hotel's lobby. He looked at his watch and decided he needed to make his move. _Bingo._ He found the passageway to the hotel executives' offices and had jimmied a lock in less than half a minute and edged inside. There was a computer on the desk and he quickly booted it up. Mack chuckled to himself as he rummaged in the desk drawer and found mints and condoms among the assorted office supplies. _What kind of business goes on with the high end guests_, he mused. He took a mint but tried to leave everything else as he'd found it. No password written on a scrap of paper caught his attention but—_what-do-you-know_—it looked like he didn't need one he deduced as the screen came up. Mack launched the internet browser and navigated to a secure site and entered his password. All the operators had access to the site with a listing of current safe house locations and contacts. Each man had his own password that would be recorded, letting the TOC trace it back to his location. Most of the guys chose their secure password based on some significant event—like the day and girl's initials from when they first got laid. Mack had chosen a password composed of the date that Randy Shughart and Gary Gordon had been posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor for their actions in Somalia along with their initials.

With an ear out for the sound of anyone coming down the hall, he waited as the website bounced his request around from secured servers in one country to another and finally pulled up the information he needed. Scanning the information, Mack's mouth curved into slight smile. It was further away, probably six hours by car, than two of the other locations, but better to go with the known commodity, a trusted friend, than an unknown. He memorized the address, writing it down would put a friend in danger if he got captured by authorities before he made it there. He pulled up a map site, thank goodness he knew Spanish well enough to navigate the site and get directions, then logged off the computer and shut it down before slipping out the door, careful to leave no trace of his unauthorized visit.

Next on the agenda, new threads. Buying something new in the resort store would stand out more and involve interaction with a clerk, besides he needed something with a more local look. So Mack headed east, away from the resort, continuing until he reached a street of small cinderblock homes. It didn't take long to spy clothes hanging on a line behind one, but as he neared he could see the pants looked too wide and short so he moved on until he saw something that looked like a better fit. He edged between two palm bushes and crouched to stay out of sight. No one was visible in the back yards, but that didn't mean someone wouldn't be looking out a window and blow this part of the op. Might as well get a move on, he decided before some old woman or dog stumbled across him. He took the few steps needed to reach the line and yanked the pants and a work shirt from the line. At the side of the house, he quickly stripped and changed into the stolen clothes, stashing his behind the palms in exchange, though hoping they wouldn't be found until at least nightfall when he'd be far away.

************

More people were on the move now, making their way to jobs and Mack did his best not to draw attention to himself or make eye contact with anyone as he headed toward the business center of the city. Purposefully, he wandered around until he found what he was looking for—an actual office building with a parking lot. He found a location that allowed him to discreetly observe the people coming and going. A young woman parked a short while later and carried what looked like a brown lunch sack into the building with her. Mack waited another precious half hour until the pedestrian traffic had died down to make his way to the woman's parked vehicle. Another stoke of luck in that the door was unlocked. She probably didn't expect anyone to pick her rattletrap for a joyride. _Sorry_, he said silently by way of apology to her as he hotwired the ignition. He figured it would be a good eight hours before she returned to find her car missing.

Thirty minutes later, the city had disappeared from sight as Mack drove the dusty excuse for a highway headed south. Following the road signs he drove carefully, fighting the temptation to close his eyes. He remembered how the Bulgarians had captured an ill Alex Deckard after he passed out, wrecking his car filled with illegal weapons. It had only been 36 hours since he'd slept. He drove another two hours before pulling off to fill the gas tank and get lunch and grab a short power nap parked at the side of the station.

He reached his destination, the city of Turbo, late afternoon and drove around a while getting the lay of the land, mentally preparing several escape routes. He ditched the car on a side street then walked fifteen minutes to the address he'd memorized. Activity had picked up as Mack navigated his way back to his objective. He purchased a straw hat from a street vendor to hide his shorn hair after seeing several people staring warily at his bruised face and hurrying to put distance between him and them. Those things and the scruffy growth of beard undoubtedly giving him a menacing appearance that he didn't want people to remember.

He entered the five-story apartment building and climbed the stairs to the third floor. No one answered and he hesitated, toying with the idea of picking the lock. Instead, he decided not to risk it and exited the building. He walked the length of the busy street carefully scanning both sides looking for a familiar face. Tired as he was, he began to regret not picking the lock, having no idea how long it could take to make contact—or even if he would. The "local asset" might have plans, maybe overnight plans, that didn't include him. Still, Mack figured he'd give it an hour before coming up with a Plan B.

He crossed the street and walked back. It'd been nearly five years since they'd seen one another, still, without knowing he was coming, she picked him out of the crowd a second before he saw her. She only missed half a step before recovering her countenance—a testament to her skill and experience at living undercover, but never letting her guard down. She stopped at a vegetable vendors cart and selected several peppers. Mack neared and saw her cut her eyes towards her apartment building. He gave a slight nod, telling her he knew where she lived. As she paid for the items and added them to her canvas shopping bag, she gave a slight jerk of her head telling him to go ahead. She was right; his following her could draw more attention than him going in first.


	2. Chapter 2

PART 2

Mack never broke stride as he passed Teresa Pickney, _strike that, Teresa Alvarado _he corrected himself. She'd had to drop her married name when she'd gone undercover. Wearing a flounced peasant skirt and embroidered white cotton blouse, her wavy long, black hair pulled back with a carved wooden clip, she looked every bit a native of the area. He reentered her building behind a young woman who gave him only a cursory glance as she left the stairway on the second floor. After scanning the hallway, Mack strode to the end of the hallway and checked for a fire escape at the open window. No go there—and a long way down. Hearing footsteps and the grating metallic sound of a key inserted into a lock, he made his way back down the hall and caught the closing door in time to slip in unnoticed.

"Well, despite whatever circumstances brought you here, it's good to see you, Mack."

"You, too," he said. Her husband, Daniel Pickney, had been a member of Alpha team, and Mack's closest friend, before being killed on a mission five years ago. After his death, Teresa had left her position in the TOC to go back to work for the CIA, living as a local in a foreign country providing information to the agency.

Even knowing the memories the sight of him invoked, he reached out and pulled her close to him for a comforting embrace.

"You look tired. And dirty," she said, studying him after pulling back just a bit. She reached a hand up and winced slightly as she touched his cut and bruised cheek. "Why don't you shower up while I fix you something to eat. You can give me a sit-rep after that."

He started to protest, then thought better of it. She'd benefit from him having a clear head and he'd come here for a reason. He could trust her to help him get home safely.

The apartment was small, but nice by South American standards. A large open room served as the living area: kitchen with a small table, a desk combined with a rough hewn book case filled the wall, a love seat sat against the other wall where a door opened to the bedroom. "Thanks," he said simply, allowing himself to start to relax. He disappeared through the door to the tiny bath and turned the water on before stripping off his clothes.

He found a clean towel put out for him when he turned the water off feeling much better ten minutes later. Sniffing the air, he could smell the mouthwatering aroma of food cooking and redressed quickly. Standing at the stove, Teresa looked him over with a warm smile and motioned for him to have a seat at the table where two glasses of wine were already poured.

"You look good. How's life treating you down here?"

"I could complain, but I won't. It could certainly be worse. You want to tell me what kind of trouble you're in?" She didn't expect full details, but she did need to know what he needed to make a plan to get him out of here, even if selfishly she wanted him here a little longer.

Mack outlined what he could of the mission as she finished cooking and placed warm tortillas on the table and set the skillet with seasoned grilled peppers, onions and chicken in the middle. She moved back to the stove and carried a pot of rice over, generously heaping some onto his plate while Mack scooped some of the pepper mixture onto two tortillas. She listened closely as he talked, her eyebrows rising at the mention of the leaving Ortiz's body in the truck on the beach. Obviously, she recognized the name, which she should, considering why she was here in the first place.

"Well you did the world a favor," she commented as she poured him some more wine, scrutinizing his face. "But word will get out so we'll have to work a little magic." She rose and vanished into the bedroom and Mack could hear the open and closing of the bathroom cabinet doors. She emerged carrying a bottle, cotton balls and tube of ointment.

He rolled his eyes as she set them down on the table and cleared his plate. "You don't need to do that. I'll be fine," Mack insisted, even as she soaked a cotton ball and ignored his protest, touching it to his cut creating a stinging sensation. She dabbed the ointment on next, her fingers a gentle caress against his skin.

A knock at her door interrupted them. She glanced quickly toward the door. Mack shook his head, "Don't answer it."

"If it's someone looking for you, they'll come in anyway." She spoke softly, motioning him to the bedroom as she headed to the door.

Mack glanced around the bedroom sizing up what he could use as a weapon if needed, wishing there'd been a knife on the kitchen table. Keeping an ear out, he heard Teresa speaking fluent Spanish with what sounded like two children. She closed the door seconds later and appeared in the bedroom's doorway.

"Just my neighbors," she explained. "They come over and we watch American TV shows to practice their English. Why don't you get some sleep while I get to work?"

She'd indicated the bed but Mack glanced at it, not saying a word. There was only one full-sized bed in the apartment. "I don't want to put you out."

She suppressed a laugh. "Take the bed for now. This could take a while. I can wake you later to fill you in."

Mack grasped her hand. "You're too good to me. Appreciate it." He pressed a brief kiss to her temple. Mack was accustomed to being in charge, making plans to take care of himself, but also knew how to follow orders. After nearly five years imbedded in the local culture, Teresa had the know-how and connections to help him accomplish his current mission—to get back to Fort Griffith.

"We're family, Mack. And I get paid to boot. Time I earn my keep." It had taken nearly three years for her to work her way up to a job that gave her access to more useful information, like the comings and goings of key drug cartel members and their associates. This was only the second time she'd been called on to provide assistance as a safe house. The other being a CIA agent who'd needed a new forged passport and slight makeover. Mack provided more of a challenge considering the authorities and drug cartel would be looking for him.

She heard him moving about the bedroom then the creak of the bedsprings as he climbed into her bed while she put the dishes in the sink to soak. Turning on her computer she entered the encrypted passcodes for the day. She accessed the daily updates for her area of the world, not liking what she was seeing. The body had been found and authorities already had a decent composite sketch of Mack. No doubt the drug cartel did too and would be looking to avenge Ortiz's death.

Two hours later, Teresa had garnered all the information currently available and outlined a plan that she was satisfied with. She picked up her fanny pack and hurried from the apartment to get to the business district before the shops closed. On her way, she worked on the plan's details in her head, stopping to make a call from a pay phone.

She returned just over an hour later and went to the bedroom where she saw Mack, sleeping soundly in her bed. A stab of pain gripped her as she remembered Daniel, still feeling the ache of losing him. And a deep loneliness. She thought of Tiffy, Lissy and Jen. _I'll get you home safe, Mack,_ she vowed. She couldn't bring herself to wake him; he wasn't going anywhere tonight anyway.

After readying herself for bed, she pulled back the sheet and slid into the bed. Mack opened his eyes taking only a second to remember where he was. He began to move to get out of the bed; however, she laid her hand over his arm.

"Hey. You want me to—"

"Stay—please." She hated sounding so pathetic. "I don't…" She didn't want him to misunderstand. "There's no reason we can't share the bed as long as you promise not to hog the covers."

Mack understood. He turned and resituated himself, allowing her to snuggle closer. She was a beautiful woman but her job made any romantic relationship a complication and risk she couldn't afford. He couldn't imagine how she managed the isolation. The image of Tiffy with Tom Ryan forced itself to the forefront of his thoughts and Mack felt his body tense in anger. It would be so easy to reach out to Teresa now. But she was a friend. She trusted him not to take advantage of the opportunity their current situation provided. And with her not knowing about Tiffy's affair—Mack tried to suppress the rage that rose again at the thought—Teresa would be the one feeling guilty if anything happened between them. He swallowed hard, closed his eyes and kept his hands to himself.

Teresa allowed herself to pretend the warm, hard body against hers was Daniel as she listened to Mack's steady breathing as he drifted back to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3

"Morning," Mack said softly, his face just inches from hers, when she woke.

"Did I crowd you?" Teresa asked self-consciously.

"Naw. It was nice. You didn't take advantage of me, did you?" he drawled and watched a flush tinge her cheeks.

"You don't remember? I'm crushed!" she grinned and slid out of bed. "But I'll still fix you breakfast."

"You got a plan?"

"For breakfast or to get you home?"

"Both would be good."

"Then you're in luck."

Mack nodded thankfully and he, too, got out of bed and noticed the new clothes sitting atop her dresser. He trailed her to the kitchen where she started coffee then pulled eggs from the small refrigerator. He listened as she outlined the simple plan as she cooked up scrambled eggs and served them up with fruit. Mulling it over, he agreed it would work.

"You coming with me? We miss you back at the TOC."

"It's tempting," she admitted. She'd thought about it. Traveling as a couple would be actually be a better cover, but her job would allow her to put him on the plane out of Colombia which should be enough. "But Kayla's got it under control and seems to have some new help. I've still got work to do here. But give my love to Jonas and Charles, will you? And Molly and your family—if you can. And I'm sorry I couldn't be there for Hector's funeral. I wanted to be. But…" Her voice was choked.

"I understand."

Teresa let out a quick breath, gathering her composure. "Okay, let's get started. I'll be right back."

She disappeared into the bedroom, emerging a minute later with a black case which she set on the table. "Turn the chair toward me and take off your shirt."

He resisted the urge to make a suggestive comment just to get a reaction from her to lighten the mood from a minute ago. He pulled his t-shirt over his head as she opened the case and pulled out a tube and opened it, squeezing a pasty substance into her palm. Taking a stance directly in front of him, she began rubbing the substance between her hands then spread it over his scalp onto his nearly shaved head, softly shaking her head.

"Too short. It makes you look hard," she stated aloud, but more to herself than him. Wiping her hands when she finished, she took a sponge and round plastic container of make-up foundation and began covering his face from the hairline down. Mack tried to remain still and not express his lack of enthusiasm at being made over.

He continued to let her work, neither saying much as she applied the foundation to his neck, chest, lower arms and hands. When she moved to apply mascara to his lashes, Mack balked, "You're enjoying this too much."

"I love your freckles and red hair, Mack. However, it makes you stick out down here, and the authorities have a pretty decent sketch of you. And, the cartel has an even better one—" she handed him a print off she'd gotten from her sources with a striking resemblance to Mack—"that they've distributed to their contacts at the port authority, bus terminal, every taxi company and of course the airport. So good-bye Master Sergeant Gerhardt and hello Carlos Montoya." She studied him hard, comparing him to the sketch, then reached back into the case. "Open your mouth wide," she ordered, then surprised him by painting a curved line across his cheek with a pink liquid. "Hold the position. I kinda missed the scar. And I hate to hide your beautiful eyes, but…"

Mack could feel the skin tightening as the liquid dried. She tilted his head back and put in contacts.

"Okay. Go get dressed and I'll get your new passport picture, Señor Montoya. Wear the blue shirt for the picture."

Mack retreated to the bedroom and changed into the dark brown pants and crisp blue shirt Teresa had purchased the night before. The fit was good and made him look like a traveler. The loafers also were the right size. Glancing in the dresser mirror, Mack had to admit she'd done a great job. He could probably walk past Jonas and not be recognized. Brown eyes, not a freckle in sight—other than the one on his lip, and a scar nearly identical to the one he'd gotten on a mission with Daniel a few months before his death. The way she'd shaded the makeup even made his nose look slightly broader, more authentic.

Teresa had a digital camera out and a kitchen chair backed against the white wall. Mack took a seat and she clicked off a few pictures. Mack stayed out of the way as she worked, loading the pictures on to her computer, darkening the scruff of his beard to change up the picture enough to not look like she'd just taken it. She entered a name, country, date of birth, and issue date then went to the desk and pulled a drawer out. She removed a false panel and produced a blank passport and clear film sheet which she inserted into her printer. After printing off the information, she peeled the label off and carefully laid it over the passport's first page and rubbed the transfer on. Next, she retrieved a few hidden rubber stamps and stamped pages in the passport with different dates making it appear he traveled between Colombia and Venezuela periodically.

"Not quite as good as what they can doctor up for you back home, but this will pass," she stated authoritatively as she handed the forged document and printed flight boarding pass to him. "Take a taxi to the airport. Your flight doesn't leave for over two hours, but you won't want to arrive too early. Once you pass through customs, stay out of sight as much as possible until you board your flight to Caracas. Don't leave the airport but take your next flight to San Juan and one more flight will take you to St. Louis so you'll be home in time for a late debrief and dinner.

"I need to get ready for work. Make yourself at home." Teresa looked at his altered appearance, remembering Mack's face and times spend together years ago. A trace of wistfulness clear on her face.

******

Mack let himself out of the apartment an hour later, half an hour after Teresa had given him a farewell embrace and said goodbye. Carrying a leather overnight bag with a change of clothes, toiletries and a paperback novel, in Spanish, he hailed a cab. At the airport he got in the line to pass through international customs, handing his passport over to the agent when his turn came.

"Where are you traveling to today, Señor?"

"I'm returning to Caracas." Mack handed her the boarding pass.

"And were you here on business or pleasure?"

"Pleasure," Mack grinned slyly as Teresa stamped and handed back the very passport she'd forged for him hours earlier and boarding pass for the flight.

"Do you have anything to declare?"

"No."

"I need to check your bag, please."

He handed over the bag and she unzipped it and poked around inside before handing it back.

"Please step over here," she requested and then ran the wand up and down his lean legs and muscular torso. "Custom agents have your picture, but you should be good once you're through here," she spoke softly. Actually, an anonymous call had reported Mack purchasing a bus ticket leaving Cartagena and bound for Bogota last night and a second phone call seemed to verify that, saying he'd taken a taxi from the bus station in Bogota to the airport an hour ago. Hopefully, they'd be looking in the wrong place for a while as Mack took his flights home.

"Graciás, Señor. We hope you enjoyed your visit and will return again."

She held his eyes for only a second, but he noticed they were moist. Mack picked up his bag and headed down the concourse to the gates.

*****

The flight to Caracas went smoothly and Mack had no trouble passing through customs and boarding his flight to San Juan. He caught the flight to St. Louis and was surprised to find Sgt. Kayla Medwar waiting for him just past security there. She didn't recognize him until he approached.

"I got a text message from a friend saying you might need a ride home."

"Talk about a full-service travel agent," he remarked.

"Well, we're glad to have you back home, soldier."

"Thanks," was all he said, not exactly feeling the same sentiment. He had a lot to straighten out in his life – mainly what he was going to do with the information that his commanding officer had been sleeping with his wife. He thought of Teresa and how he'd felt waking up next to her. How'd she'd taken care of his every need without complaint – it hadn't been that way with Tiffy in a long time. He wondered if things ever could be right with his wife again. Would she be glad he was home or did she hope that one day he wouldn't make it home at all?

The End


End file.
